Sparks in the Darkness
by bkwrmnlvnit
Summary: They lived in the sewers in a world which couldn't have been much worse if it had tried, yet somehow, they still thrived, sparks in the darkness of the world after the outbreak. The story of Ish and the sewer community, from the beginning to the end.
1. Prologue - Ashes of Before

**First things first, Happy Outbreak Day, everyone! Thanks to the help of the ever amazing Dustfinger0420, I actually succeeded in my goal of getting this story released in time for the day. Now, the deal is, when I first played the game, I was absolutely taken in by the whole thing, but I especially loved those segments in the sewers, where we got that sneak peek into Ish's world. After reading the notes for the umpteenth dozen time, I decided I'd write their story because I couldn't stand it being unwritten. After six hours of sewer mapping, countless hours of planning and discussion which usually ended in my getting pencils thrown at me virtually and physically by the aforementioned author, and a fair amount of time poring over reference images, I'm finally ready to kick this thing off. **

**Now, outside of fandom, this fic would be rated M. But considering the game, I'm going to take a page from the ever amazing "The Real F'n Scorp"'s book and say this fic is T plus. It is rated thus for language, violence, and the sheer fact of the way the story is going to end (and for those who've played the game, you know what that means. For those who haven't, it means not well.) Any chapter specific ratings will be explained in these author's notes. I hope you enjoy the story and review if you feel so inclined, and I hope you like it as much as I've enjoyed planning it so far. So...Without further ado, Sparks in the Darkness. Enjoy!**

* * *

The sound of screams from behind him pushed him faster.

Feet pounding hard against the hard packed dirt of the pathway leading to the docks, the barrel of his .22 still burning hot against his skin from where he'd shoved it into his waist band with shaking hands_, _Ish's breath heaved through his lungs. Somewhere southeast of him, a burst of fire shot skyward as if to ignite the stars, shattering the night with an explosion and the sounds of people shrieking in fear.

_What the fuck is happening? _he thought desperately, scrambling down the loose dirt of the hill sprawling before him and narrowly avoiding tripping. _The news said there was an increase in hospital admission, not that hell broke loose! _The hill evened out before him, and he sped up again. Gunfire spit from behind him out of a soldier's gun. Someone screamed, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know who or why as the sweat streamed down his face and mixed with the blood spattered there as he pushed himself harder. Rising from the ground ahead, the ocean glimmered, a dark promise of escape under the haunted moonlight. _Thank God._

A shadow against the night, the _Antananorivo _rocked gently in the water, unaffected by the mayhem around it in a manner which almost seemed unnatural. _At least it runs, or damn well better, _Ish thought to himself, as if that would be a comfort as he slipped on the wet wood of the pier, almost fell, then righted himself again. _Just a little longer. Just keep going. Don't stop now. _

Swinging himself onto the deck of the trawler with a sharp thunk as his boots hit the metal, he paused only momentarily before heading for the wheelhouse and fumbling open the door, heading for the controls. On a form of desperate autopilot, he slammed the levers and switches into place as necessary, reveling in the sound of the engines firing up as yet another explosion rocked the night and torched the sky. _And that's my cue to get the hell out, _he told himself, looking out the window to assist in piloting.

From the path where he'd come from came somewhere around a half dozen pursuers, the soldiers he'd outrun and hid from as soon as he picked up on their less than noble intentions to shoot him 'just in case'. Barking orders among themselves, their flashlights lit on and gleamed off the ship, sending beacons through the window.

"Shit, shit, shit," Ish muttered, urging the trawler to go faster, as fast as it could.

"In the wheelhouse!" he heard one of the soldier's bark as their light cast a shadow. "Shoot to kill!"

The boat shuddered under his feet, ready to escape, just as the first shot shattered the window of the open wheelhouse door. Cursing, Ish ducked as low as he dared as the _Antananorivo _jetted off into the darkness, chased by the soldier's gunfire.

It was almost ten minutes before he dared to raise his head to peer into the darkness which had long since swallowed up the flashlight beams of the soldiers. Around him, the ocean waved calmly, but the world still refused to be silent. From the shore behind him, gunfire still bickered, and the screams of the masses wailed higher than any siren, splitting the peace in half and shattering it with their agony and terror.

He was in the middle of some unfamiliar body of water and far enough away that the screams in the distance were nearly inaudible, though entirely unforgettable, before he killed the boat's engine. The tension and strength draining from his muscles as he leaned back against the wheelhouse wall, Ish's legs slid from underneath him, bringing him to the deck and the shattered glass which lay there. Tilting his head back and shutting his eyes as if to block out the sight of the flames of an explosion, or the way that that insane woman had crumpled back with a bullet in her brain as he'd held the shaking gun, he let out a shaky breath that quickly collapsed into something that wasn't quite laughter or tears.

_Holy shit, _he thought in disbelief. _Holy shit. That happened. That's happening. _Somehow, his brain couldn't form any other thought past guilty relief that he had made it out. The bodies that had already been piling up by the time he'd exited were the proof that there were a lot of people who hadn't been so lucky, and the image of their dead gaze was engraved into his mind with a firmness he doubted he could erase. And their faces. _Their faces._

For the love of God, half of them had been _kids. _

Running his hands over his face, Ish finally dissolved into a sort of disbelieving, crazed laughter. Whatever the hell was going on back there, it was real. It wasn't some ridiculous film on the television screen anymore, or some headline on the news, not anymore. That was yesterday. That was a world ago.

Picking up a piece of the broken glass from the nearby metal, Ish laughed. _We finally found our apocalypse._

_The world finally found its way to hell._

**_~O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O~_**

That had been three months ago.

Now, as the waves lulled gently against the _Antananorivo's _hull and through the gaping hole that had been carved into her side, Ish drummed his fingers lightly on the control panel. Looking up through the fogged, green, and occasionally nonexistent windows, he cast his eyes along the stretch of shore he'd finally let the old trawler die on. Going on for what seemed like an eternity in either direction, it betrayed no signs of life, only the same silence he'd gotten uncomfortably accustomed to over the past three months.

"Well," he muttered to himself, filling the quietude with his voice in what had grown to be a rather steadfast habit of his, "at least that means I won't get shot immediately by any trigger happy soldiers…" _If there's even anybody left._

He wasn't sure which terrified him more – the idea of having the whole world to himself, or the idea of only sharing it with the dregs of mankind and having to fight it out to survive. _Not that it matters which I prefer. _

A ledger and pen lay on the control panel, stained with the coffee he'd brewed in some attempt at normalcy a week ago and promptly spilled thereafter. When he'd put it on the boat with the rest of his supplies the day before the outbreak, he'd intended on using it to detail his adventures sailing around the world. Instead, most of the paper had been converted to either poorly made origami, paper airplanes which didn't fly, or a series of notes to himself which tended to wind up in the ocean when a particularly vivid nightmare woke him in darkness and reminded him that the world as it was now was the last thing he'd ever want to remember. Picking it up, Ish drummed it in between his fingers for a moment before finally writing out one more note, not at all doubting that it would be his last.

_Well... It's looking like I've dodged the chaos and the mayhem long enough. My time out at sea is coming to an end. I'm short on supplies and this boat has seen better days. And you know what... This was bound to happen sooner or later. I guess it's time to go see what's left of mankind._

_What could possibly go wrong, right?_

_If you happen to find my skeleton, please don't step on my skull. Thanks._

_-Ish_

As he drew the last line of his signature, Ish sighed gently, resting his hand on the paper again. _So, _he thought. _That's it then. _Looking at the comic beside him, a volume of Savage Starlight he'd read so many times in trying to kill the boredom that he'd practically memorized the damned thing, he shook his head as he picked it up then put it back down. _Not as if the dead have much need for comics, and it's not like I'll probably live long. No point in taking it where I'm going._

As he stepped out of the wheelhouse, he closed the door behind him purely out of habit, though the still-shattered window reminded him that it was hardly a helpful safety measure. His feet echoed gently against the steel of the deck as he walked toward the railing, stopping at it and leaning against the cool bars.

For a moment, he couldn't help some sort of vaguely sentimental distress. Once he stepped away from this, the past would be completely gone, as if it had never existed. The idea left him simultaneously horrified and numb. The sea he knew so well stretched out before him, cold and unforgiving and still silent, offering no solace or opinion. Above, the sky shone silver grey with the promise of a storm, a wind biting at his ungloved hands as he shoved them into his coat pockets.

"No help from either of you then," he murmured, ducking his head down. "Well. Suppose I'll have to give myself my own inclination in that case."

With one last glance, he shook his head and walked to the side of the trawler, vaulting over the side again, a backpack with the ledger and what few other items he'd bothered to hold onto hanging between narrow shoulder blades as he walked along the sand.

"First matter of business," he told himself, "find somewhere safe."

_Safe. Right._

He hunched down and walked forward without looking back as, like ashes drifting from a dying fire, the snow began to fall.


	2. Chapter One - Overture

Propping his gun against a wall and tossing down his bag, Ish heaved in a long, somewhat pungent breath and tumbled onto his mattress.

Instantly regretting it as a sharp stab of pain pierced through his side where a bullet had grazed him last week – despite his best efforts, that was still sore – he winced, one hand temporarily twitching to hold the injury before falling back to rest over his stomach. His other arm propped up behind his head as a sort of pillow, blue-grey eyes sought out the ceiling and stared.

The silence stared back uncomfortably.

"So," Ish said to no one in particular. "Nice place you've got here."

No one replied.

_Now that's just rude, _he thought wryly to himself with a small smirk. _Didn't your mother ever tell you that ignoring people is frowned upon? Not that I'm sure how many ceilings actually have mothers, but…_

"This is getting ridiculous." Interrupting himself and sitting up, one arm slung around a knee, the tall man sighed. "People like me aren't meant to be in apocalypses, you know. We start going crazy."

More silence. Another sigh. "Shouldn't complain too much though," he admitted to an empty set of shelves that had somehow made its way into the sewers before he'd shown up. "This place is pretty roomy. No one gets in here that I can't outrun. No neighbors to try and kill me like everyone seems so interested in doing so these days." A pause. "Got the whole sewer to myself!" The walls threw his words back loud enough to be startling. _Maybe yelling isn't the best method of alleviating boredom in small rooms where you're hiding from a bunch of insane Infected and equally insane non-Infected._ The small smirk that had crawled onto his face faded away.

It had been two months since he'd left the _Antananorivo _to rest on a beach which had somehow wound up being fairly close to his current abode. One month since he'd stumbled across these sewers, which seemed to spawn for miles with unlimited exits, dim natural lighting, and labyrinthine walls that were usually covered in some sort of thankfully unidentifiable slime. Three weeks since he'd decided that they were exactly the place he needed to hide in until the situation with the cordyceps sorted itself out. Since then, he'd only ventured out on occasion to find some supplies and food. Every time he'd gotten out, it had been a nerve wracking experience which had made him eager to go back into his hiding place. Fighting had never been his strong point, and running could only do so much for him without anywhere to hide. Interactions with any of the other survivors never failed to force him into one or the other.

It was safer here than out there, admittedly. But it was also boring as hell, way too damn empty, and, depending on location, smelled like shit.

_Not quite the Hotel Ritz, _he told himself, _but I suppose it could be worse. Somehow. I think._

"I get it," he muttered to the walls and shelves around him. "You want me to stop whining, don't you?" A pause. "Sorry, but I don't think that's going to happen." Silence. "Oh, don't be like that. Look on the bright side – you'll be rid of me for a couple hours tomorrow. I have to go find food again, because that went so well the last time." More silence. "Yeah, well, hello to you, too. Asshole."

_Great. Now I'm not just talking to the walls, I'm insulting them. Maybe I really am the crazy one._

Rather than following that train of thought, Ish shook his head, closed his eyes against the light, and smiled gently, humming some song he'd long since forgotten the name to under his breath until he fell asleep.

**_~O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O~_**

The early morning air was brisk and biting as Ish emerged with a less than graceful stumbling, nearly falling over as he struggled to right himself on the hill.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "Never using that tunnel again." Between the steepness of the climb out and the fact that it had narrowed to an almost impassable channel the further he'd walked along, escaping through that route had been a less than enjoyable experience that he didn't care to repeat.

_Still, _he thought to himself, _worth the effort. Even if the world's going to shit as we speak, you can't tell that now. _Sucking in a long, icy breath, a small smirk curled at his lips. Over a set of nearby suburbs, the sliver of a rising sun cast a grey light over the area as it ate away at the darkness, leaving the world shrouded in a sort of fog like, mystical air . The scent of rain and shrubs which were finally starting to grow back after the long winter mingled into something which tasted new and fresh on his tongue.

_Might not be much, but it's a hell of a lot better than the sewer, _Ish thought, watching for a few more moments before shaking himself from the reverie.

"Alright," he murmured, "get a move on. Didn't get up this early to sight see." With something not entirely unlike regret, he started to slip down the hill towards the waiting gathering of buildings below, concentration carved onto his face. The whole point of getting out early was to attempt to sneak around in the dark and avoid human interaction. The sun would only give him forty-five minutes before taking the suburbs into day and making survival ten times harder.

_Which means I have to do this fast._

Silencing his eternal urge to monologue, Ish crept in behind a massive building which seemed to be somewhat randomly placed on the outskirts of the nearby town, feet quiet as he hid behind the brick walls and looked over the suburbs. There were no Infected that he could see immediately, and no non-Infected either, which was a definite plus. _Only thing worse than someone who's lost their mind trying to kill you is someone who's just crazy trying to kill you, _Ish thought grimly to himself before blinking at the realization that the thought had been almost entirely illogical. _Speaking of people going crazy, I might consider putting myself in that group. _Shaking his head to return to the task at hand, he nodded to himself. _Looks clear enough for safety. I can probably sneak through, try and steal some stuff, and get back. Just have to avoid the locals._

Slipping from around the corner of the building where he'd stationed himself, Ish skittered silently down the grassy and dirt-patched hillside to where it cut off in a sharp ledge, catching himself on the concrete and stopping abruptly just before he could topple off. With a last glance to make sure that no one was around, he jumped down, a light crunch under his feet as the gravel twisted and he continued onward.

The dim grey light didn't do much to hinder visibility, luckily enough, but combined with the barely noticeable fog, it cast the world in an almost eerie light that Ish couldn't help finding unnerving. _As if everything wasn't bad enough, _he thought with a sort of grim humor. _On the upside, I'm not dead or infected yet. _A beat. _Think I'll try to keep it that way._

Around him, the silence still hadn't stirred, the only noises the occasional crunch of his footsteps and the occasional chirp of a bird calling across the rooftops and sparsely placed trees. For a moment, he almost smiled. Despite the unexpected delay of getting lost in the sewers leading to a late start, so far there'd been almost no sign of locals. _I can live with this, _he thought.

And then a shotgun shattered the silence.

The sharp bang piercing the night, Ish was startled into immediate stiffness, cursing in shock almost on instinct. Instantly looking for a nearby house to take cover in until the source of the shooting could be defined and avoided, he turned sharply to his left, the closest available option. An unassuming house with peeling brown paint, it seemed promisingly quiet and, with any luck, uninhabited. It would explain the lack of any kind of light or sign of life in the windows and, more importantly, it would mean he didn't get shot.

_Here's hoping, _Ish thought desperately, crouching down and fiddling with the lock using a set he'd found and - with a sort of sheepish disgust and guilt – taken from the body of an Infected young teenager whose intestines had been scattered halfway across the sidewalk where he'd been killed.

The lock made a satisfying click of acceptance as the last pin twisted into place, and breathing out a quiet word of thanks to any person who was listening, Ish slipped into the now open door quickly, shutting it behind him and locking it and hoping the next person to try to enter wouldn't have a lockpick set or a gun.

Leaning back against the door, Ish closed his eyes for a brief second, catching his breath as his heart pounded in his chest and threatened to beat out. Outside in the street, the sound of shuts continued for a few seconds then faded into the silence, at least temporarily. _Holy shit, that was intense. Now to figure out where to go from here, once I actually get _out _of here…_

"Who the hell are you?" The sudden sound of a male voice, young and defensive and low cut through Ish's thoughts, and he jolted as if electrified, eyes shooting open and taking in the scene before him in an instant.

In the living room where he was now standing, a woman who looked to be in her early thirties stood across the room with a man who looked to be about five years younger and wore a faded blue baseball cap. Both were holding their arms out in what looked like an instinctively protective gesture, barring back what appeared to be at least four children, some of who appeared to be as young as five. Distrust was carved into their stony faces, coupled with a hardened determination which stood firm in their eyes. Right in front of him, a third man, this one looking to be in his late thirties stood, a shotgun in hand pointed levelly at Ish's chest and a scowl on his face which was more than clear in saying that any movement the sailor made forward would likely be his last.

Cursing in shock again, Ish raised his hands on instinct, holding them far away from himself. "Don't shoot!" he said, eyes wide. "I'm not-I'm not here to steal anything."

The man with the gun glared, not lowering his weapon. "Then why are you here?"

Keeping his eyes trained on the gun barrel, Ish shook his head. "Gunshots. I was out trying to get some food and there were gunshots so I hid in the first place I found, which was here. Now I swear I'm not going to take anything, but-can you please just put that thing _down?_" Dying of a gunshot wound while trying to hide from that fate hadn't been on the day's agenda, and Ish wasn't especially looking forward to adding it.

There was a brief second when the man was appearing to calculate and weigh his words before one of the others spoke. "Kyle, put it down," he said. "I think he's telling the truth. Most looters don't take the effort of picking the lock – they just shoot it off." Without looking, Ish could feel everyone's eyes on him, and the tension seemed almost choking as another second went by, then another in absolute silence.

_Please don't kill me, _Ish thought.

The man with the gun frowned for a moment, studying Ish. "I think you're right," he said finally, the gun lowering. The tension drained out of Ish's shoulders, and he leaned back against the door, hoping to regain his breath. _This was not what I was expecting when I left the sewers today. Won't I have a story for the walls?_

Shotgun now pointed at the ground, the man stepped forward. "My apologies. There's been a lot of looting lately around here. Can't be too careful when strangers come breaking into your house. The name's Kyle," he explained, extending a hand out. Gratefully, Ish shook it, nodding his understanding.

"No problem," he breathed, waving it off a little. "Thanks for not killing me." _Thanks infinitely for not killing me._

From over by the other two, one of the children was peering around the woman. A young girl of about five, she had dark brown eyes that watched him curiously from afar for a moment before she detached herself from the woman who looked vaguely as if she could be the girl's mother, moving quietly across the room and stopping about five feet away.

The girl blinked at him for a few moments. "You don't have hair," she observed, and Ish chuckled, running a hand over his head.

"Nope," he agreed with a still shaky smile, "I don't." The girl giggled, but before Ish could say more, the woman touched the girl lightly on the shoulder, murmuring something he couldn't make out as the two of them backed away, returning back by the man with the baseball cap, who was now holding a girl with blond ringlets who had buried her face into his chest.

Outside, the gunshots were still firing, now sounding like they were coming from a different direction, short bursts of bickering ammunition cracking into the air. Against his will, Ish shuddered a little. _Damn, _he thought. _This early in the morning and people are already killing each other. Doesn't this madness ever sleep?_

"Hey," Kyle said, interrupting Ish's thoughts. "Since you're here and we're not going to kill you and I'm assuming you're not heading out until things quiet down, you feel like maybe swapping some supplies? Make sure this trip isn't a total waste for you."

Ish gave a quick nod. "Works with me," he said. "I've got plenty of bullets I'm hoping I won't need, if you're interested."

Kyle gave a dark laugh, half under his breath. "Have you seen the times recently? If it can keep us safe, of course we're interested." His face was shadowed for a brief moment before he turned around, gesturing for Ish to follow.

"Where are you going?" Looking up from where she was crouched by and talking to the dark haired girl from before, the woman raised an eyebrow.

"Just going to try and trade some stuff, Susan," Kyle explained. "We'll be back in a few minutes." At her nod, Kyle continued, jerking his head onwards in indication that the other man still needed to follow.

Heading up the stairs, the pair continued until they reached a sort of closet in an upper hallway. Fiddling with the lock for a moment, Kyle opened it to reveal a set of shelves populated by an assortment of canned foods, bottled water, and a few boxes of ammunition. Scattered in various places were other implements of varying use, most of them which Ish just ignored.

"You see anything in particular?" Kyle asked, rocking back on his heels.

Ish shrugged. "Couple cans of food, if you're willing to part with them," he said. Kyle nodded, and Ish pulled off a few cans at random, purposely avoiding reading the labels._Nothing like trying new things, _he thought. _Hopefully none of it is poisonous._

"Here," he said, reaching into his backpack and grabbing a box of shotgun shells. "I don't know how much you want or how much is necessarily appropriate, so take whatever you think." _I can probably guess at least loosely if someone's trying to gip me, though I somehow doubt he's going to._

Kyle nodded, taking a handful of shells and gesturing for Ish to keep the rest. "This is good," he insisted. "Thank you. Should last us a while. Keep us safe until we can maybe come up with somewhere else to go."

_I know of a place with some vacancies, _Ish thought for a bizarre moment, almost speaking on instinct before he was cut off by Kyle closing the closet and leading the way back down to where the others were waiting, noting at the bottom of the stairs that the shooting seemed to have quieted.

_Never mind then. That was a stupid idea anyway. He's right, I know the times, _Ish thought. _Besides, with the shootings over, I don't have time to discuss this anyway. Home sweet sludge is calling. The cockroaches might get lonely. _Almost snorting to himself, he earned an odd glance from Kyle that he just waved off.

"I'm gonna head off then, try and get back to my hideout before it starts up again." A brief pause. "Thanks for the food," Ish offered.

Kyle nodded. "Likewise for the bullets."

A brief smile flitted across Ish's face. "Glad to be rid of them. Don't like killing things." He cleared his throat. "Anyway. Keep safe and don't mind the neighbors." With a last duck of his head, he slipped forward towards the door he'd entered through, opening it silently and closing it behind him with an equal lack of noise.

The sun was fully out now. _Better hurry before I turn into a pumpkin, Cinderella._

He slipped forward, disappearing into the horizon without looking back.

**_~O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O~_**

"One-ninety-seven, one-ninety-eight, one-ninety-_ow!_" As the ball he'd been bouncing against the wall of the sewer cracked back into his face, Ish fell off his rhythm with a curse, rubbing his nose and eyeing the toy with something not entirely unlike disdain.

"_That,_" he said, "was not very kind. Didn't anyone ever tell you hitting people isn't nice?"

Predictably, the rubber ball didn't respond, and Ish sighed, shaking his head. "Just before I got to two hundred, too," he murmured. "At least there's always next time."

His words bounced off the ceiling back at him with the ever-present and vague scent of slime that the sewers always seemed to reek of, threatening to push his lunch into making a half-digested reappearance. His earlier game of chance had gotten him a random can of Vienna sausages amidst the other mostly edible and recognizable foods, something which he'd groaned about to no one in particular. He'd never been fond of them before the outbreak, and that hadn't changed to date. When combined with the scent, it was only with a great force of will that he kept himself from being sick.

Ish let out a long breath, sinking with very limited grace onto his mattress and slinging his arms around his knees before deciding that was too much effort and falling back to stare at the ceiling. For some reason, ever since he'd left that house the morning previous, its inhabitants had continued to float back into his mind, making him remember the way they had all stuck together so close and been so cautious. They'd clearly been terrified, though they had tried to cover it up with preparedness and a shotgun.

A small part of him couldn't help wondering if that was how he himself looked most of the time. It wasn't like there was usually anyone or anything around to care, necessarily, but he was unable to keep himself from being somehow curious.

Not that it particularly mattered. He'd gotten lucky that morning, nothing more. It was rare to find anyone level headed these days, and doubly hard to find someone who was levelheaded after having their house broken into.

_Besides, they're probably dead by now anyway. People like that don't really last long these days, I've noticed. Not unless they're in safe zones._

If safe zones were even real, anyway.

"You know, this whole thing is very depressing," he told the ceiling again. "The whole talking to myself and thinking in circles. Not getting me too far." A pause. "Which probably shouldn't surprise me, I guess. I mean, just because you're a captive audience doesn't mean you're captivated." Silence. "Though you could at least be a little more responsive." The quiet remained.

His thoughts wandered through the stillness, set free as he decided to not bother trying to keep them on a leash since they seemed to listen about as well as the wall did. He allowed them to chase whatever distracted them, finding himself less than surprised when they found their way back to the memory of the family yesterday morning, of the children who had looked to be no more than six, and the girl who had approached him about his baldness and the fear in her mother's eye and the mercy they'd extended a total stranger after he'd broken in. It was as if they were stained glass, some sort of fragile and miraculous beauty which he knew was destined to shatter but couldn't help admiring anyway. The thought of them wouldn't dissipate.

Abruptly, Ish pushed himself to his feet. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, "and I'm not really talking about the conversing with the wall bit, just so we're clear." He leaned himself back against the sewer and promptly regretted it as he pushed off again to avoid whatever was oozing along the concrete. "For God's sake, if my family thought I was crazy before, they should see me now. Talking to a wall, thinking about a bunch of people who are probably dead or dangerous or both, considering taking in a bunch of kids when I can't even keep myself alive. What the hell am I even on today?" A pause. Not even an echo responded. "You know, you could at least throw my own damn words back at me so I could hear those and pretend that it was someone else speaking!"

Nothing.

He paced across the room, boots grinding against the chunks of stone. "Say I were to do it. What then? I go through and ask them and they say yes, decide they don't have time and shoot me? They think I'm trying to play them and they shoot me anyway? It's a pointless risk for me to be taking just so I can get myself killed when I can do that for free just about anywhere."

They'd been so scared. Just like him. And there weren't too many murderers who kept kids around. And that girl had been so innocent and so open. She wouldn't last long in this world, not unless her family found a safe spot. None of them would. Not in a place where the nights were made of gunshots.

"Stop trying to convince me on this! It's a bad idea!" He turned sharply on his heal, walking the other way again.

Kids didn't belong in this kind of danger. They didn't deserve the kind of end they were going to find out there.

"You are _insufferable!_" Scowling, Ish shook his head, running his heads over where hair used to be and blowing out a long breath. "You know what? Fine. If you won't be of any help, I'm going to go talk to myself. Maybe then I can at least get some sane input."

Sitting back down on the mattress, Ish pulled out a pad of paper and a half functional pen from on the shelf at the end of his makeshift bed, crossing one leg over the other to use his knee as a brace for the paper.

He wanted to write something scathing, something which said exactly what he thought of the situation. Wanted to find the words to describe every single stupid thought which was chasing itself in his head and find some way to define exactly how utterly idiotic he knew they were. "To hell with being lonely," he growled. "It's either alone or dead. What do you want?" Jaw set with irritation, he started writing.

Against his own better judgment, he gave himself an answer.

_Yesterday I met with some people who did not want to shoot me on sight. Shocking, I know. We traded some supplies and went on our merry way._

_They had kids with them and they seemed pretty scared. I almost told them about this place. What if they're like the others? What if…_

_You know what? I don't care. What's the point of surviving if you don't have someone to laugh at your lame jokes?_

_Tomorrow I'm going to search for them. See if they want to join me in here._

_-Ish_

As he read over his note, he contemplated it, realizing slowly exactly what he'd just said as he groaned and leaned back against his mattress, letting the paper and pen fall from his hands somewhere onto the ground.

"You're crazy," he told the walls around him. "Certifiably batshit."

The walls knew.


End file.
